


Math

by T Verano (t_verano)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:49:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t_verano/pseuds/T%20Verano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Symbolism. Schmoop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Math

## Math

#### by T.Verano

Author's website: <http://home.earthlink.net/~t.verano>  
  
Written for Jane Davitt, on the one-year anniversary of her first posted TS fic. (Uploaded here many, many months later, sheesh.)  
Um, I should probably put an explanation somewhere, but I don't want to put it here before the fic starts, so if it all doesn't make sense by the time you get to the end of the fic, I apologize! -- you can email me and I'll send you the spoilery "about this" info.  
This story is a sequel to: 

* * *

At some point they'd rolled off the couch onto the floor. Which probably should have hurt something, for at least one of them, but Blair had been too gone to care and Jim had handled it, controlled it -- _must_ have controlled it, Blair didn't really remember -- with those so fucking beautiful muscles of his. 

They'd knocked over one of the glasses of champagne, though, and it had ended up dripping from the coffee table onto Blair's face, running down along his jaw and neck, into his hair. Even now, much later, and implausibly, his skin tingled where Jim had licked the sticky fizz off. 

Of course, maybe that wasn't because of the champagne. Maybe that was because of the words Jim had been murmuring between those unhurried swipes with his tongue. 

Blair propped himself up on an elbow, trying to remember where they'd left the champagne bottle. _Ah_. On the floor by the corner of the couch, with Jim's two neatly folded condensation-catching towels still lying underneath the makeshift ice bucket. He sat up cautiously, feeling one or two twinges that might have come from falling off the sofa, one or two twinges that definitely came from something else. 

And they hadn't even made it up to bed yet. There was a lot to be said -- sexually, not to mention anthropologically, in general -- for traditional celebrations. 

Like this one. _Oh, yeah_. 

The Krug was just out of reach in its plastic bucket; stretching toward it shifted him away from Jim, which earned Blair a lazy swat on his hip and a grumble of complaint. 

They hadn't even made it up to bed yet. But they would. Soon enough. Blair had a few special plans for later on involving the railing -- Jim really got off on it when they did _that_ \-- and a couple of otherwise-ordinary items in the top right-hand dresser drawer; his cock twitched in anticipation. 

"Jesus, Chief." 

Blair grinned at Jim and stroked himself lightly. "Prime of youth, man. You got any complaints, hey, the line forms in the rear." 

Jim snorted. "You wish. Get back down here." 

"Mmm." Blair let his hand drop from his cock and grabbed the bottle of Krug. 

First things first. 

He shoved the coffee table further away so he could sprawl out on the floor next to Jim at the angle he wanted and began to dribble champagne onto Jim's abs with painstaking care. Jim's skin twitched as the cool drops landed, and Blair muttered, "Lie still." He didn't mutter 'turn it down'; he wanted Jim to feel it, just like he had himself. 

No. Feel it _better_. "Feel it, Jim," he whispered, not lifting his eyes from the pattern of translucent drops he was creating. It was tricky to get it right, with all those perfectly delineated muscles; hard to keep to the design without an easy, paper-flat, reliably untwitching surface to hold the drops where he wanted them. 

Apparently, Jim was bemused -- or actually concentrating on feeling it, like Blair wanted him to -- because he remained silent. 

For a minute, anyway. 

"What the hell are you doing, Picasso?" 

"Math." Blair paused. _Almost done_. "For our anniversary." 

His eyes were still mapping the best millimeters of muscle for the final drops, but he knew exactly what angle Jim's eyebrows were currently lowered in even though he wasn't looking at Jim's face. 

"Sandburg, your math is pathetic. Eight what? It's _one_ year. And you're drawing it sideways..." Jim's voice trailed off and Blair looked up in satisfaction. 

"I take it back; your math is just fine, Chief," Jim said hoarsely. 

"Yeah. It is." Blair turned back to the symbol he'd drawn, the drops shimmering with Jim's careful breaths. Right now he had words of his own to say against Jim's skin, words he'd never say to anyone else. Words he'd never really believed in before Jim. He pulled his hair back with one hand and held it out of the way, lowering his head to the circles of champagne. 

All those drops of champagne. Tiny circles, creating two bigger joined circles, creating the truth of what he wanted. One year, going on forever. _Infinity_. 

Not too much to ask, right? 

It couldn't be too much to ask. 

* * *

End 

Math by T.Verano: t.verano@earthlink.net  
Author and story notes above.

Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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